


"Too Far"

by skepticallysighing



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dissociation, Insanity, M/M, Metaphorical, Serial Killing, Wendigo, Wendigo Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14188761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticallysighing/pseuds/skepticallysighing
Summary: "Don't leave anything behind!"





	"Too Far"

Vic had never intended it to be like this.

The first time Patrick had tasted something that wasn’t quite himself was an accident.

He remembered that day, when they were down at the junkyard, joking around. Vic had been sprawled out on one of the old couches. It was an awful, ratty thing; the springs didn’t work and one of the seats was missing, and everything he sat on it, he had to share it with the mice who lived there. It could’ve been worse, though.

It could have been filled with needles.

And Belch was standing up, hands pocketed, glancing around. He was always on guard. It really was a shame. Maybe, if he had been a bit more on guard, he might’ve seen it. He might’ve prevented it.

Henry and Patrick were talking together. Not really talking, no, that was sugar coating it. Henry was threatening Patrick, and Patrick was calling him gay.

It was strange to see. Henry was so big and muscular, with his tanned skin, greasy black hair, his pink jacket making him stand out like a cardinal in a winter forest. Patrick seemed so normal in comparison, a chubby kid with his stomach hanging over his belt, and his livery lips in a dumb smile. His brown hair was full of baby-curls, just starting to become straight as he grew older. He blended in like a tiger in prairie grass.

Except for his eyes.

His eyes.

Vic had never been fooled by that face because he could see what was behind those eyes.

Maybe that’s why, when it happened, he was already numb.

Eventually, Patrick said something that really fired Henry up, and the leader of their gang took a swing at him. Patrick ducked back, tittering his little giggle, dodging it just before he could a shiner.

And Vic saw it when it happened.

Patrick leaned forward and caught Henry’s hand between his front teeth, biting down hard. Blood squirted from how hard he bit, and Henry howled, punching him as hard as he could.

Vic saw the bite mark as Patrick fell off, the deep deep mark.

Henry straddled Patrick’s chest, dolling out a beating and screaming at him. Belch widen his eyes and looked up at Vic, nervously asking him to stop it without a word.

Vic didn’t.

Vic had too much faith in his friends to solve their problems. He never tried to stop something before it went too Far.

Too Far.

 

The next time he noticed it, he definitely should’ve said something.

Belch and Vic were shoving Tozier back and forth, laughing overtop his cries, not a care in the world. Nothing was wrong, this was just a little fun.

But when they shoved him to Patrick, Patrick couldn't resist just one little bite.

 

When Vic first saw what-he-had-done, he had frozen up. He hadn’t screamed, he hadn’t flinched, he had stayed still. Because, really, he couldn’t process it. No, no, Patrick wouldn’t. He was weird, but he’d never go That Far.

Patrick made eye contact with him, carrying the Tozier kid over his shoulder, the legs missing. The chubby kid was quiet, staring at Vic, and Vic thought he saw a little fear. Was Patrick as scared as he was?

Maybe Vic didn’t want to get hurt. Maybe he didn’t want to see Patrick get hurt.

Because he said, “Let me help you with that.”

 

“Why do you do that?” Victor had asked after they had taken care of Tozier, curled up on the ground, watching Patrick tear away at his ‘treat’.

“Cause I wanna,” Patrick had said back, looking up and smiling, livery lips parting to show his teeth. Now that Vic thought about it, they weren’t really livery anymore. They were tattered as if someone had pinched them and snipped them away.

“How long have you been doing it?”

“Mm, not for long.”

“What does it taste like?”

Patrick licked his not-lips thoughtfully.

“Just a little bit like jello. Do you want a taste?”

“No thanks.”

“Come on. Just a little bit, Icky-Viccy,” he grinned, scooping up a handful of ‘that stuff’.

Vic opened his mouth, and Patrick put it in.

“...It does taste like jello,” he said softly. “Jeezums, that’s weird.”

“Want some more?”

“No thanks.”

 

Late at night, Vic would stare at his ceiling. But he swore he could hear Patrick curled up at the foot of his bed.

“Lick, lick, Viccy-Vic! How tasty!”

 

“You don’t look like yourself anymore,” Vic said to him, lying awake with a cigarette in his lips.

“What do I look like, Viccy?”

“I don’t...fuck, I don’t know.”

The blonde looked at Patrick. At his slender cheekbones, his huge eyes, his thin arms. He was so skinny, as skinny as Vic. When the blonde brought it up, Patrick accused him of being envious, and that was it. But he was no longer the short, chubby boy he once was. Rather, he loomed over Vic.

“You just look different.”

“Bullshit.”

And Vic didn’t argue. He simply put the cigarette out before going to sleep.

 

“What does it taste like?” Vic asked softly as Patrick carved away at the skull of a girl named Betty Ripsom.

“Like love,” Patrick had said, feeding him a small spoonful once he popped the lid off. “Try it.”

Vic parted his lips and swallowed what he was given.

“That’s what my love for you tastes like,” Patrick whispered, eyes sunken, staring him down. “Do you like it?”

Vic thought it tasted like jello.

“Mhm.”

 

“Vic?” Henry asked one day. “Do you think Patrick’s alright?”

And Vic said:

He didn’t.

He didn’t say a word.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever heard, but there’s this thing called Wendigo Psychosis,” Vic told him one day. Vic sat cross-legged on Patrick’s counter while Patrick made a broth of the bones he couldn’t digest on their own.

“What’s that?” Patrick asked, looking up. His cheeks were sallow, and he seemed so tall now, so slender. He dwarfed Vic easily. Victor sometimes wondered if anyone realised the changes Patrick had gone through.

“It’s this Algonquian thing.”

“That’s not a word.”

“That’s an Indian tribe, now let me speak.”

Patrick went quiet, gazing at him blankly.

“Sometimes, back in the day, one person would suddenly go insane and just...geez, Patrick, they’d just turn into a cannibal. It would happen so  _suddenly_. They thought it was a possession in some cultures, and in others, they thought that they literally turned into a monster.”

“Huh, so a serial cannibal?”

“I...yeah, I guess.”

“So, Indians had a word for serial cannibalism, so what? They believe that rocks can talk, you shouldn’t jump on everything they say.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right-”

“Hey, Vic, test this. See if it needs more paprika.”

“Look at that, Vic,” Patrick whispered, arms around his waist. Vic gazed at the table, full of ice cream made of human milk, of cake using the sugars of sweat, of puddings of skin. Oh, God, how many had he killed to make a meal like this?

“Don’t you  _love_  it, Viccy?”

And Vic had said

“Of course. You know I love sweets.”

 

“Fuck, I’m so hungry.”

And Vic would think “You can eat me. I don’t mind. I want to fill you up more than any of those others could.”

But he’d say “You know, I think I heard that Uris was going to walk home alone today.”

And Patrick would grin and roll his shoulders back. “Well, we should get a headstart, then.”

 

One day, it went too far.

When Vic saw Patrick dragging the body of Henry Bowers, he had gone stiff. Not Henry. Not Henry.

He had tried to talk to him, to say something, but all that came out was a pitiful whimper.

But that was over now. It didn’t matter because Patrick did not say anything.

Patrick’s eyes were huge, and his lips were worn away, and his body was too-skinny, and his eyes were so huge, they were so huge.

Patrick loomed over him, holding the body in his arms, and he didn’t even ask. He knew Vic would help him.

He knew Vic would help him.

And he would.

And he did.

 

Patrick disappeared and the killings stopped.

Even though people had no idea, they theorised. They had 'guesses'. Most people said he was the serial killer, and he had fled in his guilt. Some said he was killed by a vigilante. Some thought he had been the final victim.

 

Vic knew the truth.

He knew that Patrick had become addicted to the human taste, and the more he ate, the thinner he grew, everstarved.

 

He knew that Patrick had turned his gaze upon his own hand with hungerlust.

 

 

He knew that no one would ever know of Patrick's sweet taste.

 

 

That was a long time ago.

 

 

 

 

 

Vic waited till his parents were asleep before he went downstairs. He opened the fridge, taking out the jello cup and the raw hamburger meat his mother was saving. He set the raw meat down on the table, kneeling so it was just under his nose.

He inhaled deeply and began to eat up the jello.

And the disease was passed.

Vic had never intended it to be like this.


End file.
